Mr Brightside
by snuggled
Summary: Henrietta is having trouble dealing with her group, and everyone seems to be in a gloomier mood than usual. A fic centered around the Goth Kids. Also includes Kenny, with some subtle slash. Warning for language and slight sexual content. COMPLETE
1. Cold

_This isn't my first South Park fanfic, but I **adore** the Goth Kids, so it's the first I'm going to post. I'd like to point out that the poem at the beginning was inspired by a friend of mine, mainly because she's a lot like Henrietta. At least, how I see Henrietta. Or would it be that I see Henrietta as I see my friend? Oh well. Whatever._

_At the end, I'm going to put all the references to other books and/or people in a neat little list so you can find out what I used in this story. _

* * *

"Cold, cold water washes over me,  
Dragging me down into its  
Sweet, sweet silence. 

"Above it, the winds howl and a storm rages,  
But here I am, in the ocean.  
Sounds are muffled,  
And my body goes numb.  
I open my mouth to breathe in the  
Icy shards of my release.

"Darkness.  
Becomes me."

She closed the book, running a pale finger over the cover affectionately. She turned to them, her brown eyes flashing, appraising their reactions and looking for signs of approval. She met three icy stares, three vague smiles.

So she turned to the smallest of the three boys sitting around her bed. "What do you think, baby bat?"

Peter nodded, flashing a crooked smile. "It was nice, Henrietta. The end echoed Angels and Demons…"

Henrietta chuckled, smoothing her dress over her knees. "Thank you, baby bat. I have to say it _did _inspire the end of my poem."

Thorne flipped the red-streaked hair out of his eyes, clearing his throat. "Wasn't that your favorite part of the book? Where the cardinal drowned in the fountain?" Henrietta nodded, sitting up and placing her poetry diary on the shelf in the wall over her bed.

After a moment, she sat back down, her gaze drifting towards the curly-haired Goth sitting by the wall. He took a drag from his cigarette, idly petting the white cat beside him. The cat purred and rolled over onto its side, revealing a few black spots on its haunches.

Henrietta cleared her throat, earning a look from the offending smoker. "Nicholas, I told you not to smoke around Tanith." He stared at her for a long moment before standing up and walking out the door, being careful not to tread on the cat's tail.

He shut the door behind him, and Peter, the littlest Goth, leaned in close to the other two. "Avery hasn't been himself." Henrietta gave him a reproving look.

"Shush. You know he hates being called that."

Thorne rolled his eyes, looking from Peter to Henrietta.

"Still, Nicholas _has_ been gloomier than usual. And he hasn't said a thing since we got here."

Henrietta sighed, eyeing the door and narrowing her eyes. "Well, you're right about that. When he comes back in, I'll say it's time to go home. Why don't we hear something from you in the mean-time, baby bat?"

She smiled as Peter pulled out a scrap piece of paper. As he recited an essay he wrote in response to Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven", however, her attention shifted to the door. A paragraph before the essay ended, Nicholas walked back in, taking his place next to the wall again.

He didn't sit, merely leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

"And so, in conclusion, by using the imagery in "The Raven", Poe clearly paints a vivid picture of the frailty of life and insight into the mind of someone aware of when they are going to die."

Henrietta smiled, patting Peter on the head affectionately. He was the baby of the group–always was and always would be. "That was very nice, baby bat." Peter smiled proudly and folded the paper back up, cramming it into his back pocket.

She looked up, locking eyes with Nicholas, holding him there by the wall with a single gaze. "Well, it's getting late. I'm sure some of you are wanting some time alone. Why don't we all come back here tomorrow after school." It was more of a statement than a question, as it was common knowledge that they all went to her place after school.

Thorne and Peter stood up, walking to the door, saying their good-byes. Nicholas stayed leaning against the door, eyes still locked with hers. When the door shut, Henrietta scooted back farther onto her bed.

He shifted his weight and walked over, sitting on the ground at the foot of the bed, leaning against the frame. He took a long sigh and fished around in his coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes he always carried with him.

"No. Tanith's in the room."

He grimaced, though she couldn't see it. "What is so special about that cat?" Henrietta burst out laughing and Nicholas spun his head around, an arm leaning over the bed and propping him up so he could look with ease. He looked bewildered.

After a moment, Henrietta stifled her laugh and stood up, patting the bed. The cat immediately walked over and jumped on the bed, rubbing against her wrist. She glanced over at Nicholas and gave him a knowing look. "You know she's my familiar. I'm _going_ to treat her just as I would my own child. Like I'd ever _have_ one."

Nicholas turned back around and stuffed the cigarette back in his pocket, defeated.

Almost immediately after he put his cigarettes away, Henrietta's mother opened the door to her room, letting in light from the hallway. She smiled cheerfully. "Henrietta, sweetie, I see Nicholas didn't go home with the rest of your little friends! Is he staying for dinner? If he is, you really should call Mrs. Avery and let her know!"

Henrietta smiled lightly as Nicholas looked over, questioning. She nodded her head and he smiled a little and turned to her mother again, his face icy. "Thanks for having me. I'll be sure to call home."

Henrietta's mother laughed and closed the door behind her, cheerfully commenting on her daughter's love life being promising. Henrietta chuckled and rolled her eyes. After a moment, Tanith walked over and rubbed against the curlied nest of hair taking up space at the foot of the bed. Nicholas lay his head down and looked up at the ceiling mutely, letting the cat gag on the few curls curling out in front of his eyes.

Tanith finally settled for curling around his head and falling asleep, forming a cocoon of warmth, making his head itch a little. He sighed, knowing the real reason he was silently told to stay. "I know I've been acting weird lately, but it's nothing to worry about. Besides, it's hard to explain, anyway."

Henrietta raised a brow, folding her arms over her chest and leaning back. "Oh? Try me."

"I haven't changed at all since I was young. I mean, look at you. You're…beyond perfect. Thorne's gotten more realistic ever since Kenny told him he had no idea what dying was really like and that he had no right to wish for it. Hell, even Peter's gotten more submerged in symbolism in Gothic poetry and prose. He's written so many detailed essays. I wouldn't be surprised if he was writing a secret novel or something."

Henrietta chuckled again, and he sat up a little, craning his head back to look at her without disturbing the cat. "What is it?"

"Beyond perfect? Hardly…"

Nicholas stared at her for a while before his voice got quiet. "I think so, anyway. You're everything I've ever wanted to be. Smart, kind, unalienating to those who don't conform with us exactly… I mean, if someone were to say they liked Nine Inch Nails _and_ The Cure, I'd call them a conformist bitch and get the fuck away from them. You wouldn't hold that against them as long as they weren't a total shithead… You don't have a problem with all the new age shit Goths are listening to these days..."

Henrietta smiled. "You've changed, Nicholas. Trust me."

"I mean emotionally. Not physically."

"I _was_ talking emotionally. You're very mature, very level-headed. You've gotten out in the whole music scene. You _do_ play a wicked piano. And you write really good lyrics. You draw well, too. I think if anyone here would be jealous, it would be me. I wish I had the patience to play an instrument or draw."

He heard the bed shift as he closed his eyes, sighing. The cat stretched, making a high-pitched squeal of-sorts as it got comfy again. He could feel Henrietta petting Tanith idly. After a moment she began to hum a song, light and pleasing to the ears, giving mixed feelings of happiness and fear.

Nicholas looked up. "That's my song. How do you remember it?"

Henrietta smiled. "Oh, I'm the one that inspired it, right? Of course I'd remember it." Nicholas looked away, leaning away from the warmth of the cat around his head. Henrietta just continued. "You know we're all worried about you… And…it _is_ quite obvious… Is it true, then?"

"Is what true?"

"_Am_ I your muse?" When he didn't respond, she bent over, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "Well, now that I know, you don't have to be so gloomy anymore. Thorne and Peter are really worried. You should put all this behind you."

Nicholas turned around, staring into her eyes, and both of them knew what he was going to ask. "So…you do?" She nodded, leaning towards him and kissing him on the lips. He jerked, hitting the bed and causing Tanith to go shooting underneath the bed, yowling.

They sat there in silence, him sitting by the bed and her with her arms around him, for a long time. Neither of them needed to say anything: Useless words weren't needed for them to know what the other was thinking. It wasn't until Henrietta's mother burst through the door, frantic, that they pulled away.

"Henrietta! I thought you'd called Mrs. Avery! She just called; she thinks Nicholas tried to kill himself!"

Henrietta rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mom…he doesn't have the balls. Is it okay if he still stays for dinner?"

"Well, yes, but you shouldn't joke around about stuff like that! Why, just yesterday, I heard that little McCormick boy killed himself with an Exacto knife in the art room!"

"Mom, he _always_ does that to get out of class. He does it all the time; no one cares anymore."

"Henrietta! That's a terrible thing to say! If you're going to act like that, you might as well not have your little friends over for a week! Nicholas, your mother wants you home now. Say good-bye to Henrietta and leave."

She briskly stormed out of the room, steaming, and Henrietta kissed Nicholas on the forehead. When he stood up, she gestured toward the door, lighting up a cigarette she'd snatched from his coat pocket. "Conformist bitch."

Nicholas stifled a laugh and snatched the cigarette back. "No smoking around Tanith. I'll see you at school. That is, _if_ I decide to go…"

She smiled, catching the invitation. "I'll meet you behind the arcade tomorrow at eight. You better call Thorne and Peter and tell them to get their asses over there if they want to hang out."

Nicholas waved as he walked out the door. "Nah, I think I'll let them suffer the excruciating socialization. We can hang out by ourselves for an hour or two."

"Sounds good."

"You have _no_ idea."

* * *

1) _**Angels and Demons****, by Dan Brown**  
The one who actually drowns in the fountain is one of the Preferiti, one of the "nominees" for the papal election. He is still a cardinal, but much more important. He isn't so much a nominee as he is a shoe-in for being voted for. (Sorry for those interested and haven't read it yet. You really should finish reading it, because that's not one of the major spoilers.) _

2)_**Tanith**  
Tanith Lee, a British authoress who writes many different genres, the biggest two being child fiction and Gothic literature._

3) _**"The Raven", by Edgar Allen Poe **  
You'll see a lot of Poe in this. Not so much, just three poems, but I don't really need to explain why he's been referenced in this._

4) _**Thorne **  
I called him Thorne because that's what my friend likes calling him, and I think I've seen a fanfic somewhere on this site that names him as such, so I can't really claim myself for giving him a name. I do, however, take credit for writing in a real name, which appears in the next chapter._

5)_** Art Class Suicide**  
In the ninth grade I had an art class with a girl who wrote a lot of dark poetry and another girl who was into the whole Goth scene, even though she preferred older stuff from the 80's (much like my version of the Tall Goth). Walking down the hall, we noticed little drops of blood going in a trail from our art class. We walked in, and right where I normally sat there was a paper towel soaking up blood on the table. We learned that they were using Exacto knives the class before and there was an accident. We joked about it (I know, suicide is no joke. I was stupid, I was young.) and wondered if the kid slit their hand open to get out of class. Hence, why Kenny's doing it, and actually killing himself in the process._

6)_** Nine Inch Nails and all that CRAP **  
My version of the Tall Goth is an 80's lover. He likes the "classics", you could say. He, like a few other "Goths" I've met in my life, hates any of the new "Gothic" music because he thinks the stuff out these days is too commercialized and watered down from the originals. His reference of Henrietta not minding is due to the fact that she embraces the way the whole music scene is going, despite the fact that it may or may not be as good as the originals. She likes Skinny Puppy, as mentioned in the show, which is a relatively new band. Hence, she's more accepting of the whole mainstream Goth scene you see these days. (I personally think Skinny Puppy is terrible, but since she likes it in the show, she likes it in this story, even though it's not referenced.)_

7) _**Baby Bat **  
That term can be both negative and positive. In this case, it's a positive one because they all love the Kindergoth. Surprisingly, Kindergoth usually refers to a Goth who is under the age of sixteen or seventeen. Which, all of them are. They're all in ninth grade, minus Peter, who is in the sixth grade (he skipped a grade, because he's so smart). That gives Nicholas enough time to mature into an upstanding young man. (Ha ha.) _

* * *


	2. Warm

Thorne looked up from his textbook, boredly glancing over at Henrietta. Instead, he met the puzzled gaze of Kenny. His eye twitched, and he glanced away hurriedly. He hadn't been the same since Kenny had told him to grow up and stop wishing for something he knew nothing about–before getting hit by a semi head-on. He even had the blood on his poetry diary to prove it happened.

Kenny pointed at the empty seat between them. "Where's Bat Girl?"

Thorne sneered. "She's not Bat Girl. Her name is Henrietta, and she's way more amazing than that superhero bitch."

"Yeah, yeah. Where is she?"

Thorne shrugged. "I don't know…"

Kenny wiggled his eyebrows, making Thorne's insides squirm uncomfortably. He hated when Kenny tried to implicate sexual encounters. "Well, Batman wasn't in Geometry this morning…"

Thorne glared. "Nicholas isn't Batman."

"Oh, and I suppose little 'Baby Bat' _isn't_ Robin?"

Thorne looked at him humorlessly, replying in a very tongue-in-cheek manner. "Oh? And what would that make me? Alfred?"

"No. You're Catwoman, of course." He pawed at him, purring like a cat. "Oh my, you're a pretty little pussy, aren't you? You and those pretty red streaks and purple suede shoes…"

Thorne glared. "They aren't suede, ass-monger."

"Oh, I'm _hurt_. Hurt by the pussy little Catwoman." He yowled like a cat, hissing lightly and pawing at him again.

Thorne stood up. "I dare you to say that again–"

"Lady of the night. Scarlet woman. That's what you are, with those scarlet streaks in your hair."

Thorne practically fell over the empty desk, punching Kenny square in the jaw. "I'll kill you, you fucker!" One uppercut was all it took to kill the poor kid off. Thorne seethed, returning to his seat. The teacher looked up, glaring.

"Mr. Cummings, I will_ not_ have fighting in my class! Go to the principal!" Craig took this opportunity as a way to get out of class, too, and flipped the teacher off. "And you, Mr. Donovan, you're going straight to the principal, too!"

Clyde raised his hand. "I'm over here, Mr. Flemming."

"Oh. Sorry. I get you two mixed up… Mr. Harris, you go to the principal right now. Anyway, class, here's an example of a parenthetical statement–"

As Thorne and Craig packed up their bags and walked out of the room, Thorne glanced back at Kenny's desk. It always amazed him how everyone seemed to ignore Kenny's deaths… He wasn't even sure if they'd remember to attend to his corpse until the Janitor swept it out into the hall at the end of the day. After all, Bebe just moved his corpse to another desk one day when she found it in her seat. Was he the _only_ one other than Pip that ever took notice?

"Hey, James, did you notice that Henrietta and Nicholas were skipping school today?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Craig, glaring. "My name is Thorne."

"No, it's not, James."

"I _prefer_ Thorne. James Cummings sounds atrocious."

"Yeah, and I prefer James. Your point? Are you going to take any notice of the implications Kenny actually implied? Or are you going to ignore them as if you don't care that the hottest girl to you Goths is getting it on with your little group leader and best friend?"

"For your information, we don't all think Henrietta is the hottest girl in school."

Craig grinned lightly, interested. "Oh? And who _would_ be the hottest girl in school?"

"Oh, she doesn't go to_ this_ school. She's still in middle school."

Craig stopped, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "_You _wouldn't happen to think this girl is hot, would you?"

Throne laughed wryly, feeling like being an asshole today. He didn't stop walking, but continued towards the flight of steps down the hall. "Oh, doesn't everyone think your little sister is a hot piece of ass? I'd get up that skirt of hers any day. She'd be easy, you know. She probably wouldn't even realize what happened…"

Craig clenched his teeth and slugged the Goth in his pale face, causing what would surely be a black-eye. "You're such a douche, James. Don't you fucking talk about my sister like that. She's only eleven, dude. If I hear another word about her from you, I'll do more than just bruise." Thorne just doubled back and continued walking, not really caring at this point anymore. He had a feeling he knew where Henrietta was, anyway.

"Hey, Thorne!"

At this, he turned around, meeting Craig glaring at him again. "Just because you're pissed off at Nicholas, you don't have to be a total dick and talk about my sister. Fucking get over yourself. You have problems, James Cummings."

Thorne snorted a chuckle. "You have _no_ idea."

-------------------------------

Henrietta took a drag from her cigarette and looked over at her curly-haired companion. "So, Thorne would be in second period by now. When does your mother leave for work? I'm getting cold."

"Another hour or so. Hang on. Hold this." Nicholas handed her his cigarette and took his coat off. He grabbed his cigarette from her and took a drag, putting the coat over her. She smiled gratefully and got warm, exhaling out smoke in a ring and dropping her arm to put her hand over his.

"I think Thorne'll be worried if I'm not in class."

"So?"

"You know how he gets these days. Ever since that incident with Kenny he's looked at death in a whole new light. He'll probably think I killed myself or some shit like that."

"No, I won't."

The two looked up to see Thorne standing there, holding his lighter and rummaging around in his backpack for a cigarette. He reached into a side pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, finding it empty. He looked over at them, noticed their linked hands and overlooked it, choosing to walk over and sit down on the other side of Henrietta instead.

"Can I bum a cigarette?"

Nicholas glanced at Henrietta and Henrietta rolled her eyes. "No, I gave him one the last time he needed one. It's your turn now."

Nicholas grumbled and reached into the pocket of his coat, right over Henrietta's left breast. He pulled out his stash and handed one to Thorne. "Why aren't you in school?"

Thorne grinned wryly. "I killed Kenny, and the teacher kicked me out for fighting in class."

Henrietta gasped. "That bastard! What the fuck is his problem? Kicking an innocent kid out for killing another student…" The two exchanged chuckles and Nicholas took another drag.

Thorne swept the bangs from his eyes and shook his head to get them behind his ear, which failed like it always did. He flipped the switch on his lighter, getting nothing but a spark. He bit down on the cigarette between his lips and grunted, flipping it again and again with naught but a spark to show for his efforts.

Henrietta grabbed the lighter and looked at it. "There's no oil left. Here." She pulled out her own lighter and tossed the useless one out into the snow. Thorne reached for hers, but Henrietta gripped the lighter tighter. "No. You're not touching it."

Thorne sighed and bent his head down to the flame that sparked from it, lighting his cigarette and pulling back, taking a deep breath and sighing, letting the smoke exit through his nostrils. He got comfy and glanced over at Nicholas, who was looking away from both of them.

"Nicholas, why weren't _you_ at school today? Feeling gloomy again?"

Nicholas looked over, unamused, and took a drag. "No. I didn't feel like going. Plus, Henrietta's mom got pissed off at her when she took Kenny's most recent suicide lightly. We can't go over to her house after school this week."

Thorne gaped. "Well? Why didn't you let me and Peter know?"

Nicholas glanced over at Henrietta, who was looking at him and hiding a grin. He gave her a dirty look and glanced back at Thorne, looking off to the side and mumbling an excuse. "I didn't get around to it."

Thorne made a gesture towards Henrietta wrapped up in his coat and raised his eyebrows sarcastically. "Yeah, I'll bet." He nudged Henrietta and whispered in an attempt to keep Nicholas from overhearing. "So, did you find out what was up his ass?"

Henrietta burst out laughing, startling Nicholas again and confusing Thorne. She held her hand up in a fist and winked at the one on her right as he swept the bangs from his eyes again. "Yeah. Me, of course."

Thorne stifled a laugh and the curly-haired Goth glared at both of them, turning slightly pink. Thorne reached his arm over Henrietta and nudged the taller one. "Hey, don't be ashamed. Some guys would pay good money for that." He and Henrietta held back another laugh and Nicholas stood up, mopey.

"Leave me the hell alone."

Thorne put a hand over his mouth dramatically. "Sorry for caring about you, man. Me and Peter just asked Henrietta to get to the bottom of everything. It's not like we asked your problem to be about _her_. Besides, I can see you asking her to shove her fist up your ass."

Henrietta bit back another laugh and glanced up at Nicholas. "Nicky? You okay? You know Thorne's just teasing…" Nicholas didn't answer her question and instead threw his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heel.

"I'll see you bubbleheads later. I need to go do something."

Henrietta pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "What about your coat?"

Nicholas waved his hand and walked off. Thorne took a drag and called out after him. "Nicholas, if you're pissed off at me, don't take it out on her. We were just trying to help."

As he turned the corner, Thorne stood up, glaring. Henrietta placed a hand on his knee. "Let him go off. He needs some time to himself. Fighting with him isn't going to help things."

"That's not good enough. He needs someone to talk to right now, and it obviously can't be you, since he doesn't seem any better after that talk you had yesterday."

Henrietta rolled her eyes and took a final drag, flicking the remaining butt on the ground. Thorne frowned and dashed after him, turning the corner.

* * *

_**The Harris-Donovan Theorem **_  
_In the show, Clyde has been given the last name of Donovan. A few times in the initial airings they messed up and made his last name Harris.  
Now, this theorem draws on the other fic I'm writing which is mainly Craig/Tweek. I don't know about you, but me and a few of my other friends have written Clyde instead of Craig and vice versa. Because Clyde has been mistaken for a "Harris" in the show before, and Craig is always mixed up with Clyde, then obviously Harris is going to be Craig's last name. This puts in an inside joke with myself that Clyde and Craig get mixed up all the time, simply because their names both start with C and have the same number of letters.  
(Warning: This theorem has no logical basis and is therefore unable to be understood. Thank you.)_

___Speaking of, that reminds me of a funny story regarding me and some boy I went to class with in the fourth grade. His name was Collin and my name is Caitlin. One of the other students got our names mixed up and handed back the opposite one. Pretty normal, right? My last name is probably the most common last name in the Ozarks and is only six letters long. His surname was foreign, started with a V and was about nine letters long.** How the hell do you mix that up!?**_


	3. Hot

For someone that didn't like to move a lot, Nicholas sure did walk fast. Thorne finally caught up to him a block from the arcade. They were taking back routes and alley ways, and finally Thorne caught up to Nicholas in an alley.

He slammed him against the wall, catching the taller one off guard and giving him the upper hand. Thorne shook his head to get the bangs out of his eyes and clenched his fist, spitting his cigarette onto the ground.

"Nicholas, I don't know what your problem is, but we've gotten sick of it." The tall Goth looked at his friend emotionlessly and looked away after a while, indignant. Thorne just narrowed his eyes further. "This has to do with Henrietta, I know. What is your problem with Henrietta?"

"She… You and Peter told her to get to the bottom of my gloominess yesterday?"

"Yes, she said she'd tell us to leave when you came back and figure out what was bugging you. We're your friends. We care."

"Oh? And I suppose friends don't kiss friends…"

Thorne stepped back, appraising the situation. It was obvious Nicholas was more than close to Henrietta, and judging by how Henrietta skipped school with him, the feeling was mutual. He frowned, jealous. Not of Henrietta, and not of Nicholas, but just them in general.

And, like with Craig, he felt like being an asshole.

So he laughed. "Nicky, Nicky, Nicky. We told her to butter you up to get it out of you. If kissing you is what it took, than that's how she got it out of you."

Nicholas opened his mouth and closed it. He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes. "So…"

"We told her to lie to get you to spit it out. I'm sorry, man, but we were really worried. We had to figure out what was bugging you."

"Yes, but she said–"

"We've all been friends for years. What makes you think she'd suddenly fall for you? She feels the same for you as she does me and Peter. If there was anyone she felt more for, it'd probably be Raven."

Nicholas raised his finger threateningly. "Don't you bring him into this. He left us. He has nothing to do with us anymore."

Thorne shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "Well, I'm just saying, man. Come on, why don't we talk about this later? Why don't we head over to your place and get warm? It's fucking cold out here."

"No. I'm going to go get a coffee first."

---------------------------------

Nicholas opened the door to his house and walked in. It was two hours after he'd walked off from Henrietta–his mother was long gone by this point. He lit up a cigarette and took a drag, glancing at Thorne in the corner of his eye.

Thorne made himself at home and rummaged through the fridge, looking for anything that looked less than a month old. He settled with a bowl of leftover spaghetti, popped it in the microwave and grinned, wandering off to Nicholas's room…and a giant rack full of CD's he'd been wanting to listen to.

Nicholas didn't trust anyone around his collection of music, so he followed him. Both were shocked to hear music coming down from the hallway. The taller of the two took a few steps forward, listening for the lyrics. It was a Skinny Puppy song. He wasn't too fond of that band, preferring the classics.

He narrowed his eyes and walked to the door, hands on his hips. "Henrietta…"

Thorne trailed after him when he heard a soft exhale of air and a melodic, "I figured I'd let myself in, seeing as you'd be coming here anyway. Your mother was long gone before I even tried to get in." He took a peek around the corner and saw Henrietta sitting on the bed, listening to a CD from the old boom box sitting on the window sill, right next to the bed. After a moment he realized that neither of his friends were talking, just staring at each other. After a while, Henrietta raised an eyebrow.

"Nicky, what's wrong?"

Thorne turned his head to see Nicholas staring at her intently, eyes smoldering with pent up frustration and anger. In an instant, the music was cut off, and Henrietta stood up, walking over to them.

"Did something happen? What's wrong?"

As Thorne flipped the bangs out of his eyes, he could feel Nicholas tense up beside him.

"You…"

He clenched his teeth and looked away, and instantly Henrietta's eyes met Thorne's. Thorne swallowed and felt weak under her gaze, which was something a mixture between worry and anger.

"Thorne. You said something to him, didn't you? He wouldn't be so hostile if it was just because we made jokes at him." Thorne looked away, ashamed, and Henrietta raised her eyebrows, livid. "You're really asking for it, aren't you? If you don't tell me, I swear I'll take away goth points."

Thorne groaned. Henrietta only mentioned goth points when she was pissed off. She only mentioned them when any member of the group did something to make her think less of them–usually deceitful or just plain cruel. The exception was when they were joking around and being lame, but her tone suggested nothing of the sort.

When two more minutes passed and no one spoke, she finally seized Nicholas by the arm and pulled him inside, slamming the door behind them. Thorne sighed and sat down. She'd get it out of Nicholas, and then she'd turn on him for being such an asshole. Just great.

----------------------------

She whirled around to face him, eyes wide, anger evident in her face. "What did he say to you? He said something; I know it. You're even worse than yesterday." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door, raising her eyebrows, demanding he tell her right away.

Nicholas turned around, took a deep breath and glanced around the room for a cigarette. She saw this and grabbed his arm, turning him around and handing him hers. He took a drag and handed it back to her, closing his eyes and taking a few more deep breaths.

"You lied."

She gestured with her hand for him to elaborate.

"Thorne told you to butter me up so I'd tell what the problem was and get in a better mood."

Henrietta frowned. "He said that."

"Yes, he said that."

"Well, he's obviously pissed off at how close we are, because neither he nor Peter gave me any suggestions as to how to get you to talk. Not only that, but they merely brought it up. I told them nothing of my plans and changed the subject to Peter's essay."

Nicholas looked at her for a moment, unconvinced. She raised an eyebrow and walked over to him, undoing the outer blouse over her corset.

Nicholas took a step backward, toppling over and landing on his bed. "What are you doing?"

She finished unlacing the blouse and tossed it to the side. "I'm going to prove to you that I'm not lying." She bent over, capturing him in a kiss and he responded, deepening the kiss and grabbing for the laces on the back of the actual corset.

She began unbuttoning his shirt and he pulled her onto the bed with him, getting more access to the intricate weaving on the only thing standing between him and her pale skin. After a few minutes, she'd already removed his shirt, her fingers ghosting over his skin. He glared, still fumbling with the damn laces on the back of her corset.

"Hang on."

He reached over to his windowsill and grabbed a pocket knife from behind the stereo. She flinched. "Don't you fucking dare. This is my favorite–"

"It's a pain in the ass is what it is."

He flipped open the blade and she winced as he snipped every single string down the length of her back. She was furious; it would take forever to save up for a new one like it. It was custom made, too, no way to duplicate it. She grabbed the knife, but he jabbed it out of the way, succeeding in ruining the fishnet running down her arm and leaving a light cut, just barely enough to break the skin.

"You bastard!"

"You struggled!"

He tossed the knife to the side, surprised to find that it stuck in the wall right between the eyes of Siouxsie Sioux on his favorite Siouxsie and the Banshees poster. He gasped, enough to make her look and she laughed when she saw it, resuming where they left off.

"Good, we're even."

The prospect that he finally had her breasts free ripped his attention away from his misfortune as he ran his hands along her bare back. Her skin was soft and felt like silk under his hands, save for the creases where she wore the corset incredibly tight. He coughed lightly into her throat, where he was administering kisses.

"You need to find a new favorite corset. That one's a bit tight."

"That's the price for beauty."

"I can only imagine the pain you must have felt being unable to breathe. You should be thanking me for getting it off when I did. You could have died."

She moaned lightly when he pressed his lips into the crook of her neck and chuckled a little. "I doubt that would have stopped you…"

"You're probably right about that…"

And so they continued, filling the rooms with gasps and moans, sweat and various other secretions, and forgot the Goth outside the door struggling to keep the bangs out of his eyes.

* * *

_**Siouxsie and the Banshees**__  
One of the classics. The band got started in the 70's. It's considered one of the first "Gothic" bands, along with bands like Specimen, Bauhaus, Alien Sex Fiend, Christian Death. Blah blah blah. In short, monumental for the Gothic community. Nicholas also seems like someone who'd like The Killers, The Cure, Specimen, and The Police. Hawhaw. But I could see him wanking off to Siouxsie Sioux. She's one foxy ladeh._

_(**Note: **It's pronounced "Susie Sue" and "Susie and the Banshees". Just so ya know, if it's making your brain hurt trying to figure out how to pronounce it.) _


	4. Cool

Outside the door, Thorne was beyond okay. First he heard them yelling at each other, then he heard a gasp and the sound of something hitting the wall. Then it trailed off into something that sounded like two chimps mating.

He shuddered and stalked out of the house, unable to listen to it anymore. He was jealous, jealous, jealous. Craig had been right about that. But it wasn't that he was jealous of Henrietta or Nicholas, of course. He knew it was because of what those two shared.

He'd always gotten the feeling those two would share something more than just friendship. As a child, Nicholas was the self-appointed leader, being the most non-conformist of them all and leaving them behind once to partake in a dance-off.

Henrietta was right up there in terms of importance. She was the second-in-command, providing a place where they could go and talk about poetry and other dark complaints they had with the world. She had an air of authority around her, and now that they were older, it seemed she'd gained equal footing with the curly-haired Goth.

And Nicholas was his best friend, only gaining that distinction because he was the same gender and age as him. It made them like brothers, somewhat. It was odd, though, that even though he was the group leader, and even though he was his best friend, he wound up with Henrietta.

It was like the biggest betrayal of all, but Thorne was not bothered by it. He was bothered by the bond they shared. They didn't _need_ empty words to know how they felt about each other. They could simply look at each other and know.

As much as he hated to admit it, he _wanted_ that closeness with someone.

It wasn't society's fault; society didn't make him feel like he _needed_ to have someone. He knew he could do just fine without someone like that, but that was the thing. He didn't _want_ to do without someone like that. He_ wanted_ to be fine with someone and _only_ with them.

He didn't know how many goth points that would cost. Nicholas and Henrietta had the right idea–no verbal consummation of love. All physical, all the basics. They didn't need words; they didn't need the societal standard of marriage. They had what they needed.

But _him_? Could he share something like that? There was no one he cared for, no one that cared for him in that way.

As he walked down the street, the door to the bar burst open and Kenny's father came stumbling out, too drunk to even walk straight. He took a few steps back, wary of what the drunk would do.

Kenny's mother soon came out, yelling at her husband. "Come on, Stuart! We gotta go pick up Kenny's body from school again! Git in the car, right now! I swear! The day that boy stays dead is the day I die happy! Having to travel all around town, picking up his remains before I can do my errands! Even if you weren't a drunk bastard, that child alone would be enough to keep us poor!"

Thorne blinked and watched as she shoved her husband into the truck and drove off.

Really, what was with Kenny, anyway? Why was he dying all the time? Why is it that people stopped caring? He still hurt before each death. Each death was still painful. He still felt it.

It's not like it started tickling after the first one hundred he encountered.

---------------------------

Thorne wandered around town for a couple of hours before Henrietta called and told him to go get Peter from school. They had a rule where one of them would pick him up, because they worried about him, and he was like their own baby. Their baby bat, as Henrietta called him.

Thorne waited by the school until Peter walked out, cloaked in black and carrying his little book bag with him.

Peter took one look and rolled his eyes. "They're having sex, aren't they?"

Thorne stuttered. "Wh-What makes you think that?"

"It was Henrietta's turn to pick me up, and she never misses that opportunity. I suppose they finally got together?"

"Yes. Although I wouldn't really say they're 'together'. It's complicated."

"So's everything in life. Now that they're bumping uglies, what are we going to do after school?"

Thorne smiled, grabbing Peter's hand. "Let's go to the cemetery and do some grave rubbings."

Peter practically jumped. "Henrietta will be so pleased! I'll get fifty goth points for sure!"

Thorne just laughed and ruffled his hair.

-----------------------------

The next day, Thorne walked out of the school at lunch and found a little secluded spot to think.

He hummed a little ditty, twiddling his thumbs and chewing on a piece of eraser to keep his nicotine cravings at bay for a while. He still hadn't gotten a new pack of cigarettes or a new lighter. A rustle in the bushes caught his attention and he looked up, surprised to see Kenny walking out, looking vaguely sleepy.

"Weren't you in school?"

Kenny's posture straightened, as if suddenly aware someone else was there. "Huh? Oh… I fell asleep after the bus hit the curb and I went flying out the window… What are you doing out here?"

Thorne sighed. "Just…thinking, I guess." Kenny smiled and leaned against a tree, kicking at the snow on the ground until he hit mud, spreading it around and blemishing the pure white of winter. Thorne just sighed again. "You know, I'm sorry I killed you the other day."

Kenny laughed. "Oh, I was trying to set you off so I would die! I fucking hate English with Mr. Flemming! He's such a douche bag!"

Thorne smiled a little. After a few moments he frowned. "Don't you ever get bothered by the fact that no one seems to care when you die?"

Kenny smiled a little. "Well, you obviously cared enough to apologize. I guess that makes it okay."

"Yeah, but don't you sometimes feel…lonely? Or something? You're always dying and people have to clean up the mess and they never really seem to remember that the mess used to be a living person…"

Kenny smiled and looked up at the tree, covered in snow at this time of the year. He looked back at Thorne and gave him a little smile of pride, as if he'd wanted to show off all day. And it made Thorne smile a little, too, because he found a sort of kinship with the perverted little immortal boy with nothing to look forward to.

Shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up, the blond began to recite a poem.

"From childhood's hour I have not been  
As others were – I have not seen  
As others saw – I could not bring  
My passions from a common spring –  
From the same source I have not taken  
My sorrow – I could not awaken  
My heart to joy at the same tone –  
And all I lov'd – _I_ lov'd alone –"

"_Then_ – in my childhood – in the dawn  
Of a most stormy life – was drawn  
From ev'ry depth of good and ill  
The mystery which binds me still–  
From the torrent, or the fountain –  
From the red cliff of the mountain –  
From the sun that 'round me roll'd  
In its autumn tint of gold –  
From the lightning in the sky  
As it pass'd me flying by –  
From the thunder, and the storm –  
And the cloud that took the form  
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)  
Of a demon in my view –"

Kenny stopped, interrupted by Thorne's trembling, excited voice. When Thorne was done, they both stared at each other for a long time.

"You memorized Poe?"

Kenny stretched, cracking the joints in his body, popping his arm back in place upon realizing it had been dislocated the entire time. He nodded. "Yep. Learned that one in the third grade. It still gets me every time, though. But it's funny because it's true." He hit his fist against his heart lightly, nodding again. He laughed a little, more forced than genuine.

The Goth was quiet for a moment, until–

"Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven  
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven  
Uneasily, from morn till even,  
Over the violets there that lie  
In myriad types of the human eye –  
Over the lilies there that wave  
And weep above a nameless grave!  
They wave: –from out their fragrant tops  
Eternal dews come down in drops.  
They weep: –from off their delicate stems  
Perennial tears descend in gems."

* * *

1)**_ The Most Non-Conformist of Them All_**  
_This is a reference to episode #804 You Got F'ed in the A. Go watch it. It'll knock the socks right off of you in a fit of laughter. All the Goth Kids dance to 80's Goth pop. Sweet. _

2)_ **Grave Rubbings**  
Grave rubbings are basically rubbings (like the things you did as a kid with a piece of paper, a crayon, and something underneath it with ridges in it to make a picture) done on gravestones. The friend I mentioned in the first chapter (the one that liked the Breakfast Club) did grave rubbings, and it was rather interesting._

3) _**Alone by Edgar Allen Poe  
**This is a poem by Edgar Allen Poe. It's the one Kenny recites and Thorne finishes. The whole point of this poem is the fact that he is, indeed, alone and because of it he sees the world differently than most people do._

4) **_The Valley of Unrest by Edgar Allen Poe  
_**_It's actually an excerpt of the full poem--the last 11 lines of the poem, to be precise. Pretty much it exclaims that the earth weeps for he whose death goes unnoticed. I felt it was a fitting end to the story. Since the story begins with a poem; it should end with a poem. It also implies a bit of slash with Kenny on Thorne's behalf, but then again so does the other poem and how Thorne's excited that Kenny knows Poe. It suggests a common bond between them._

5) _**Mr. Brightside by The Killers  
**The title of the fic is called Mr. Brightside because it's a lot like the song, you see. You should check out the lyrics, but the fic also fits the music, too.  
_


	5. Epilogue Pretty in Pink

_Here's a quick epilogue to the story. I figured it would be cute, and I've been wanting to write a fic featuring Craig's little sister for a while now. This is also the prologue for another story I'm currently writing._

* * *

"Cassie…have you seen my_ Red Racer_ shirt? I thought I put…it…" 

Craig abruptly stopped when he walked into the kitchen. There was something very wrong with this picture… Something very, very wrong…

There was Thorne, sitting at the kitchen table, helping his sister with her math homework. Craig stared at them for a moment before his eyes narrowed. Cassie was laughing, having a grand old time learning how to divide fractions and negative numbers. Thorne was laughing, too, looking at her like a dog looked at a bone–pun intended.

"Cassie. What are you doing? With _him_?!"

Cassie looked up, pale green eyes shining with delight. "James is helping me with my homework, Craig! He was very nice! I was talking with my friend Jessica after school about how I can't understand how to divide fractions and James overheard! He was so_ very_ nice and offered to tutor me!"

Thorne glanced over and winked at Craig real smooth-like, like a sly cat. "Yeah, _Craig_. I'm only helping her with her homework. It's not like we're on a date or anything…"

Cassie laughed and nodded her head. Craig's eyes narrowed further. "You f–" He closed his mouth when Cassie looked at him, eyes brimming with curiosity. "F-Folks have fun…"

Thorne laughed silently and Craig gave him the finger. Cassie just returned it and Craig rolled his eyes, walking out the door. He knew Cassie was a bit crass growing up in their home, but if there was one thing she would _not_ learn before high school, it would be the F-word. At least not by _his_ doing.

"Now then, where were we?"

Cassie giggled and spoke Thorne's name as if she were being tickled and the hair on the back of Craig's neck stood on end as a shiver ran down his spine. There was something way too seductive and sensual about it. He dashed back in, walking in on Thorne and Cassie in a major suck-fest.

------------------------------

Craig screamed, sweat pouring down his forehead as he sat up in his bed. He looked around the room, freaked beyond reason. When he got his bearings straight, Craig relaxed.

It was only a dream. James Cummings would _never_ try something like that. He was a fucker alright, but he wasn't a pedo.

But, just to be sure–

The second he got to school, the Goth kid got a good beating before he even had a chance to flick the bangs from his eyes. Poor kid looked worse off than Kenny, and Kenny had gotten mauled by a bear on the way to school. It jumped in the bus and everything.

Craig was going to make sure those sick Goth kids wouldn't lay a finger on his sister. There was something funny about them–something he didn't like.


End file.
